Too Late?
by UrbanMuse
Summary: Post-Episode 9x17. "She could just barely recall those feelings. Of being on the cusp of something pure and bright and untarnished. Where one could start anew, venture off in unexplored directions, take a few risks and enjoy the spontaneity life had to offer. And not feel destined to do so alone." Numerous spoilers for Season 9 finale.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: CSI NY and the characters therein don't belong to me - just the ideas in my story. No copyright infringement intended; no profit being made.**

Post-Episode 9x17. "She could just barely recall those feelings. Of being on the cusp of something pure and bright and untarnished. Where one could start anew, venture off in unexplored directions, take a few risks and enjoy the spontaneity life had to offer. And not feel destined to do so alone. A small, well concealed part of her shuddered at the thought that perhaps it was too late for her to entertain hopes of ever experiencing such feelings again." Numerous spoilers for Season 9 finale.

Too Late…?

At first glance, Jo Danville appeared cheerful, relaxed, even serene. As if she were truly enjoying the impromptu gathering on the makeshift roof deck at the Precinct. She may have been a bit more quiet, more subdued, than one who knew her might expect. But then it had been a rough day for all. In light of the events of the past twelve hours, her relative silence was not so out of character that anyone would give it a passing thought, had they even noticed to begin with.

She gazed around her slowly, the hint of a smile etched in the edges of her lips. Her eyes fell on Flack and Lovato, seated just to her left yet seemingly in their own private world. She watched as they laughed at some secret joke, smiled, kissed, laughed again. Her own reserved smile spread ever so slightly as she managed to just barely recall what those first few weeks of a budding relationship felt like. The near giddy feeling of excitement, of electricity, of…euphoria. Of being part of something…more. More than just one's own life, and the usual self-imposed rules and routines that accompanied it. Of being on the cusp of something pure and bright and untarnished. Where one could start anew, venture off in unexplored directions, take a few risks and enjoy the spontaneity life had to offer. And not feel destined to do so alone. She chastised herself internally for such musings, verging on the sentimental. Yet a small, well concealed part of her shuddered at the thought that perhaps it was too late for her to entertain hopes of ever experiencing such feelings again.

Her attention turned to Danny and Lindsay, also seated with the group while snuggled together in their own familial cocoon. Jo could recall that feeling as well. The barely concealed joy of knowing that a tiny human being, a new member of their family, was growing, taking shape, just inside her, at that very instant. The grand sense of excitement, awe, nervous fear, and responsibility that one felt in that situation, whether it was the first time or the fifth. She'd certainly felt it for Tyler; a feeling shared with Russ. And she'd felt it for Ellie, as well, albeit alone. Perhaps a slightly different experience, but no less awe-inspiring. She supposed she still felt some version of those feelings on occasion, towards both her children, regardless of the fact that they were grown, or very nearly so, by now. But it would never be quite the same for her again. For her to feel exactly what Lindsay and Danny were experiencing right now, safe in each others loving embrace, safe in the knowledge that their family was still a work in progress...well, it was definitely too late for that.

She took a drink from her bottle of beer and glanced over at Sid seated right next to her. Her eyes caught sight of the bandage on the back of his hand. Chemotherapy treatments. They had started this week. He'd still told no one at the Lab but her. His stubborn determination to remain at his post as long as possible despite his condition, with no one else the wiser, had taken precedence over any sudden, fleeting desire for sympathy from the others...that and his overwhelming distaste for sympathy's unwelcome partner, pity. She admired his strength, his determination. He approached his life now as he always had. As if every day held a new adventure to embark upon, a new puzzle to solve. At least for now. Yet while she tried not to dwell on it, she couldn't help the overwhelming feeling that, while their recently deepened friendship continued to grow with each passing day, with each moment shared, eventually it would soon be too late for that as well.

She reached out, gently smoothing down the crumpled edge of the bandage. This time her smile wavered, but only slightly. She gripped his hand in hers, squeezing it tightly, imparting a volume of words, of feelings, through that one brief action, through their shared glances, their subdued smiles. She gave him a friendly pat on the back. Followed by a clink of their beer bottles. A heartfelt smile. And their attention returned to the group around them, everyone oblivious to the deeper meaning behind the seemingly innocent interaction of their two older colleagues.

Jo's gaze shifted to Adam. He'd ventured out of his normal element today. But as always, he had performed above and beyond, adapting to the needs of the situation in a way that surprised everyone, not the least of whom, himself. He'd have a whole evening's worth of tales to recount to his girlfriend upon returning home tonight. A shame she wasn't here now with him. Jo would have liked to observe them together. She expected she would have seen a side to Adam that most in the Lab would never have imagined even existed. Jo's smile tugged further at her mouth as she toyed with that thought. Perhaps it was never too late to let the light of one's true inner self shine through. As long as you had someone to cherish that first flicker, to nurture it until it was brilliant enough to withstand the harshness of those who didn't appreciate how brightly it lit up everything nearby, albeit in its own unique way. No. It would never be too late for Adam. And she laughed softly to herself. In a sense, he was so far behind that, in fact, he was ahead of the game from the start...

Just as her eyes trailed over to Sheldon, he raised his own beer, offering a toast. "Cheers, everybody." Bringing everyone's attention once again to the lot of them, together, as a group. His exclamation was met with cheerful echoes of his own words, the clinking of bottles and cans, smiles in acknowledgment that, as a group, they'd managed to do their best to bring the truth to light. As always. And no matter how unfortunate a situation their efforts had revealed, it had at least been a situation free of guilt, if not free of remorse, for the department. She smiled widely now, raising her bottle with the others. In recognition of her love for these people and what they all accomplished together everyday. For this group of colleagues, of friends, with whom she spent more of her waking hours than perhaps she was proud to admit.

Yet, it was an incomplete group. Missing its most prominent member. It's stalwart leader. Mac Taylor. Jo's brow creased slightly as his image passed through her thoughts. He had finally managed to escape the confines of the Precinct where he'd been trapped for the better part of the day. No one seemed to know exactly where he'd disappeared to. Yet no one seemed surprised that he wasn't a part of their little celebration now. Unfortunately, their paths had not crossed at all today. Not in person at least. A couple calls. A brief video-conference earlier. But no contact whatsoever since she, Danny and Lindsay had brought in their suspect, Ray Griffin, this evening. And the dead body of his partner, Keith Lewis.

Dead body. Because she had shot him. Jo's smile wavered again, ever so slightly, as her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the shooting earlier that evening. Not the first one. Not Officer Hopkin's unfortunate, yet understandable, shooting of an innocent, unarmed young man that had started this whole fiasco. But her shooting of Keith, one of the real perpetrators, as he made a move for a gun stashed away in a mailbox.

An unsteady sigh escaped from between her barely parted lips, a smile still plastered on them, though she felt none of the positive emotions a smile was meant to convey. She ran through the event for the hundredth time. She and Danny had identified themselves. Pursued him towards the alley. As he stopped at the wall of mailboxes, trying to open one, they'd given him ample opportunity to comply with their requests to stand down, to raise his hands in plain view. But he'd been intent on finding whatever he had stashed in that damn mailbox in the wall. So she shot. Twice. There'd been eye witnesses to her shooting, officers of the law themselves. And in the end, they'd turned up a gun stashed in the depths of the just opened letter box. Although she knew the gun wasn't an absolute necessity. Merely beneficial, particularly once the media, and thus the public, got hold of the story.

How many years had she been doing this? How long had she had that standard governing the use of deadly force drilled into her head. A reasonable belief. A threat of imminent danger of death or serious injury. And deadly force the only option to dispel that threat. Keith Lewis had already been identified by another officer as a suspect in the armed robbery of the jewelry store that morning. He fled their pursuit. Ignored their warnings. Refused to put up his hands. His efforts to get at whatever was stashed inside that mailbox becoming more frantic by the second. In light of all this information, she'd been certain he was going for a gun. And that if she didn't shoot right then, he would turn and do so himself a moment later. Her belief in that threat was deemed reasonable given the circumstances. And likely would have been even if it turned out there was no hidden gun. The police weren't expected to be mind readers. They were expected to make life and death decisions, in the span of a heartbeat, often in the dark, under intense pressure, with what little information they had available at that precise moment. And that's exactly what she'd done. And done right.

At the end of the day, she'd been cleared fairly quickly by Internal Affairs. It had been deemed a clean shot. Not that she'd expected any other outcome. Her interview had gone seamlessly. The usual, rote questioning followed by her calm, meticulous responses. She'd always performed well under such pressure. Professional pressure. Whether in the field. Or in the Lab. Or in the interrogation room. Whether she was the one doing the interrogation. Or, in this rarer case, the one under investigation. She was nothing if not scrupulous in everything that she did, just as a professional should be.

But the pressure her own conscience was exerting on her right now? That was another story. Had she reconciled the incident within her own mind? She wasn't so certain about that. The what-if's, the second-guessing, had started as soon as the IAB interview was over. What if there hadn't been a gun? Although she knew it wasn't necessary to clear her actions in the legal sense, she couldn't help but focus on that question in determining whether she could clear her own actions in the moral sense. She had not seen a gun. She had not seen any hard evidence that the suspect was armed in any way. Or that he was about to become so. She'd admitted as much at the scene. In the interview as well. Danny had been closer than she was. His view less obstructed than hers. And he hadn't taken the shot. She was further away, her view less direct, yet she had pulled the trigger. What did that indicate? Had she been premature in her actions? Had she jumped to conclusions? Had she been wrong to shoot?

She kept coming back to the question. What if there had been no gun? Then what? Another innocent killed? Or if not innocent, at least unarmed. Another riot. Her own face broadcast across the media, the brunt of new protests. Would she have been ousted from the Force as a political scapegoat? Images of her last days at the Bureau, following John Curtis' release from custody, flashed through her mind's eye. It could just as easily have turned in that direction. The shooting of an unarmed citizen, even if it did meet the requirements for use of deadly force by an officer of the law, didn't ever sit well with the general public. Or the media. Nor herself. And she feared that tonight, she'd rolled the dice. Taken a gamble. And somehow, in that split second she was allotted to make her decision to shoot, she'd gotten lucky. But that's just what it was. Luck. Things could just as easily have gone the other way. While what she'd done may have been considered reasonable, gun or no gun, there had been no certainty in the motivation behind her actions. And that's what bothered her now.

Her attention began slowly to draw back to her colleagues around her. She realized she'd been frozen, deep in thought, for…she really had no idea how long. But no one seemed to have noticed. She noted how her hand was clenching her beer bottle so tightly, her knuckles were turning white. She relaxed her grip and brought it slowly to her mouth, her lips still curved upwards in some semblance of a smile. But as she went to take a drink she realized it was already empty. She drew it away from her mouth and stared at it oddly as if it had somehow sprung a mysterious leak and emptied of its own accord.

Sid noticed immediately and motioned to Don to fetch her another beer from the cooler at his feet. Jo looked from Sid, to Don, to the group surrounding her, then back. And in that moment she made a decision. And shook her head in the negative. "No, thanks Don."

Her attention fully back to her surroundings, she grinned and laughed slightly as Don tried to shove another bottle towards her. "No, really... I'd like nothing more than to hang out here with y'all buuuut...I promised Ellie I'd get home before she went to bed. A little mother-daughter time. It's getting to be a rare event that my teenaged daughter actually wants to hang out with her old fogey of a mom, so I'd better not be late and risk her changing her mind."

She set down her empty bottle amid the nods, chuckles and varied good-byes of her colleagues. She rose from her chair, flashing one of her full-on, award-worthy smiles at them all, and turned, heading towards the door to the building with a quick wave good-bye. Lindsay stood suddenly, thrusting her water bottle towards Danny's empty hand.

"Bathroom." She murmured distractedly in response to Danny's startled expression. And she took off after Jo.

"Jo. Wait up. I'll walk you in." She called, and she fell into step next to Jo as the older woman passed over the threshold into the Precinct hallway.

Lindsay stopped as soon as they were far enough down the hall to be out of view of the team. She reached out her hand and placed it gently on Jo's arm, stopping her mid stride. "Jo. Are you ok?" Her voice was soft, somewhat hesitant. But the look in her eyes was one of pure concern.

Jo hesitated just a moment, before turning and staring at her a moment. A well-practiced look of feigned innocence veiling her expression.

Lindsay continued. "I mean...after the shooting. I know you were cleared - no problems there. But…what about you? Are you alright?" She paused, took a deep, slightly shaky breath, and continued. "Sometimes, whether it's deemed a good shoot or not doesn't make it any easier to handle the fact you just killed someone."

Jo's eyes narrowed slightly, particularly at her colleague's rather harsh choice in words. But in an instant the smile shot back to her mouth. Jo hoped it had masked the slight tremor she knew had flitted across her lower lip before she was able to quell it.

She laughed lightly. "Oh, Lindsay. I'm fine. It was a good shoot, I know that. And of course, you're right. I don't relish having had to take someone's life. But unfortunately that's part of the job on occasion. He was far from innocent. I won't loose any sleep over it. He made a choice. And it was the wrong one. I made a choice. And mine was right."

Lindsay looked at her a moment, almost convinced by the conviction in Jo's voice. But not quite. She finally nodded, albeit hesitantly. "Well. OK." She remained standing next to Jo, effectively blocking her departure. Jo smiled again, waiting for Lindsay to move out of her way. Both women stood, immobile, eyes locked. Until an officer turned into the hall and they had to shift positions to let him pass.

"Are you on call tomorrow?" Lindsay asked her hurriedly, fearing Jo was going to flee down the hall now that the passage was clear. And she wasn't certain she was ready to let Jo go just yet.

Jo shook her head. "I'm off tomorrow." She paused a moment but when she realized Lindsay wasn't going to let up, she reached out and squeezed the younger woman's arm gently. She nodded her head, perhaps a bit too forcefully. "I'm fine. Have a good weekend Lindsay. Get some rest." And she turned and headed down the hall without a look back.

Lindsay stared after her a moment, shaking her head ever so slightly. She knew she'd done what she could. That there would be no breaking down the barrier Jo was so painstakingly erecting around her true emotional state. Until she chose to let someone in. And it appeared Lindsay was not one of the chosen. Not tonight. If Lindsay had learned anything about Jo, it was that Jo's insightfulness often worked both ways. She was not only good at reading others. She was also quite talented at using those same skills of perception to thwart another's efforts at reading her. Or at least getting answers out of her. As if Jo knew exactly where another's inquiries were headed, perhaps even before that person knew themselves. She would never reveal how she was really feeling until she was good and ready to do so.

Frowning, Lindsay watched until Jo rounded the corner towards the stairway and disappeared. Only then, did she finally turn around herself and head in the opposite direction. Back towards the roof, where she could already hear Danny's contagious laughter. But right now, she found herself hard-pressed to respond with even a tiny smile.

**A/N: **

**This started off as a way to give voice to my disbelief that anyone who just took another's life, even in the line of duty, could just brush it off as an everyday occurrence, without some basic level of introspection. But I also refuse to give up hope that there's not something between Jo and Mac. The finale just makes it a bit more complicated. But it's still there. I'm certain…**

**Also, my apologies if there are heaps of errors, particularly in the formatting. Most of this chapter was written and proofread on my phone (construction work in our house preventing access to my computer all week). But this idea has been haunting me and I didn't want to wait any longer to post it. There is more to come; a fair amount is already drafted – although I'm not entirely certain where it is going in the end, which is not my usual way of writing. **


	2. Chapter 2

Too Late…?

Chapter 2

As Lindsay turned to rejoin the team on the roof, Jo walked purposefully down the stairs of the relatively quiet Precinct, through the maze of rearranged desks in the squad room and finally out the front doors. The smile that had remained plastered on her face for Lindsay's benefit, and the team's before that, faded quickly from her lips as soon as she walked outside into the darkness of the night. The clean up crew was still sweeping up trash and broken glass, stacking up barriers, gathering discarded poster board. But the crowds and the media had all dispersed, making the scene strangely reminiscent of the aftermath of a carnival or fun fair.

Jo hesitated a moment. Now that she was finally outside, alone, she realized she was uncertain exactly what she'd intended to do once she left the others. Her car was back at the Lab but she had no desire to return to pick it up. She wasn't in any particular hurry to get home. Ellie wasn't really waiting for her, but was away at a soccer tournament all weekend. Jo had blatantly lied to her colleagues tonight. To her friends. Feeling unable to remain another minute at the celebration, knowing she needed to get away before the tight control she was keeping on her emotions began to waver. So she set off in a random direction, intent on distancing herself as far as possible from the Lab, the Precinct, and the memories of the shooting.

Yet despite her efforts to move towards something more pleasant, her brain plagued her with images of the incident. As she turned the corner she shook her head purposefully, trying to will away her mind's defiant insistence at replaying each and every moment leading up to her finger clenching on that trigger.

She stopped suddenly and raked her hands down her face. Not caring if her eye make-up smeared. Dammit. This was not like her. To be plagued with such self doubt. She'd been under intense pressure before. She'd shot, even killed people in the past. The most recent incident, not so long ago. Why was this so different? A moment's reflection and she knew what was lacking this time around. She needed someone to talk to. To hear her out. To just listen while she verbally sorted through the conflicting thoughts, feelings, emotions that were each seeking recognition in her head. She wasn't normally the sort to bottle things up inside her. But lately, she realized, she'd been doing that more and more often. And it was beginning to take its toll. She began to walk again, hoping it would release some of the nervous energy she felt was beginning to accumulate inside her.

Lindsay had tried to get her to talk; Jo had politely deflected her attempts. She'd feared Lindsay would be compelled to talk too much, rather than just listen. To provide too much advice. Something she felt she needed only the bare minimum of right now. She just wanted a sympathetic ear. Someone to listen. She knew Sid would have heard her out. Would have listened patiently, offering only the most sage advice when it was clearly warranted. But she hadn't wanted to impose her problems on him. Not tonight. He'd looked so exhausted sitting next to her this evening.

Had she still been at the Lab, had Mac still been at the Lab, she'd likely have sought him out… Or perhaps not. As he entered her thoughts again tonight, her brow creased, yet again. A year ago, she most certainly would have gone to him. First thing. Now, she couldn't be so certain. Their relationship had changed. Ever since she'd expressed concern, or more aptly confronted him, about his health so many months ago, they had been interacting…differently, to say the least. And despite his rather tardy apology, and her overly casual acceptance of it, their relationship had never really gone back to where it had been before.

No. Truth be told - things had been…tense between them for quite some time now. An unspoken tension, unlikely even noticed by anyone else. It was evident more in what didn't pass between them, rather than what did. There was no animosity. No distrust. No malice. More like an aloof disregard of the other as anything more than a simple co-worker. And although she was certain he was just as aware of it as she was, she wasn't convinced that it disturbed him as much as it did her. Deep down inside, where it was beginning to eat away at her. And neither had made any move to remedy the situation.

She toyed with the idea of calling him. Of taking that first step. Right now. Nothing was stopping her. She stopped again on the next corner. Pulled out her phone and opened up her contact list. Her finger hovering over his image. A small smile tugged at her mouth as she looked at the tiny photo of him in her list of contacts. He looked slightly annoyed. Which was exactly how he'd reacted when she'd asked him if she could snap a quick photo for her phone, and then gone and done so, without waiting for him to even answer. Her finger moved closer to the screen, then froze.

No. She wouldn't call him now. Part of her wondered if it wasn't too late to even breach the subject of their rapport. It had been months. And anyway, her motivation at the moment was self serving. Not borne of any great desire to remedy their personal relations this moment, but rather borne of her own, personal desire for a friendly ear. She wanted, no…needed…someone to talk to right now. And, in the end, he'd had quite a day of his own. A day to forget. To erase from one's memory. Just as she had. The last thing he likely needed was her dumping her sudden crisis of conscience in his lap, when they were barely even friends any more. She shoved her phone back into her pocket and stood a moment, staring at the street in front of her, but not really seeing it.

A moment later, a cab pulled up down the block, letting someone out. Without even registering her actions she hurried towards it and got in. She suddenly had no desire to remain on the street, in public. No, she wanted nothing more than to be alone, in her apartment, curled up on the couch with a glass of wine. Or perhaps tonight, something stronger. The sudden, intense desire to be closed off from the world around her became all-consuming and she urged the taxi driver to please hurry. She could feel her ragged emotions rustling around inside her head. Becoming more and more restless the longer they were kept locked away inside. They needed an outlet. And if she didn't find them one shortly, she feared they would become such a force that they would finally break free of the barricade she'd been erecting around them all evening. And she was slightly frightened of exactly what that would bring. She forced herself to keep her eyes open, trained on the window of the cab and the passing New York City streets, just to provide some sort of distraction. Just for a little longer.

Within ten minutes she was on the doorstep to her building, punching in the entry code, passing over the threshold, striding across the tiled lobby floor. Out of habit she headed towards the back alcove, her keys in hand, searching for the tiniest one on the ring. Finally locating it, grasping it between her fingers, she reached her hand out slowly, inserting it in the small lock and turning it until she heard the click. That echoed quite loudly and unexpectedly in the small, empty niche off the lobby. She froze.

Her mind took her back to that alley. She could see in her mind's eye Keith frantically trying to open the mailbox in the dark alleyway, rummaging around inside. Then. Crack. The shot. From her gun. A split second later, the loud thwack, the sound of the bullet penetrating his body. Another shot. Another thwack. And this time, the thud of his body hitting the ground.

What started as a low rustle in her ear quickly turned into a raging howl, as if a tornado had taken root in her inner ear drum and was fighting to break through the confines of her skull. Her vision blurred a moment, her stomach clenched and a churning wave of vertigo washed over her. A great cloud of blackness began to invade her mind and she gasped uncontrollably. She recognized the signs; she was about to faint.

As a reflex, her face dipped down, trying to counter the loss of blood to her head. Her free hand immediately shot out, seeking to steady herself against the bank of mailboxes. Her other hand, still gripping the mailbox key, seemed disconnected from her brain. Sluggish fingers attempted to release their grip on the tiny mail key with the same speed that her reflexes had kicked in with her other hand, but they weren't quick enough. She wrenched the keyring as her hand jerked lethargically away, causing the tiny key to detach from the ring. Her grip finally released on the key ring as well, and the ring and the tiny key each dropped towards the floor. Jo, her head still thrust downwards in an attempt to keep from fainting, followed their trajectory with squinting eyes.

In her mind, the trajectory of the key and ring mimicked the trajectory of the bullets she'd shot. And her eyes watched, mesmerized, as they fell/shot from her fingers in seemingly slow motion, finally coming to rest with a sickening thwack in Keith Lewis' shoulder. His chest. Wait. No. As they came to land with a…a tinny reverberation? On the tiled floor. Of the mailroom. In her building. She took a sudden, deep, ragged breath and her head rose up a notch.

She eyed the door of the mailbox through glazed eyes. It was slightly ajar, a result of her jerking her key from the lock a moment ago. She began breathing harder as a shaky hand reached out to pull it open completely. Nothing. It was empty. But there'd been a gun. There had to have been a gun. She shook her head. No, not here. This was her mailbox. There was no gun here. She closed her eyes, her head leaning forwards, resting for just a moment against the cool metal bank of mailboxes. She concentrated on her breathing, trying to steady it. To slow it. A minute later, she sighed long and hard. Her breath almost back to normal. The black fog, threatening to engulf her conscious mind earlier, finally receding, gradually allowing reality to filter back in.

She shuddered slightly as she removed her hand from the wall and gently pushed her mailbox closed. She bent down carefully to pick up the fallen key and ring, rising slowly and jamming them into her coat pocket before turning around to walk hesitantly towards the elevator.

After pressing the button, she kept her outstretched hand just barely touching the metal panel. It's cool solidity somehow comforting as she waited for the elevator to come. Hoping that none of the other tenants in her building, particularly those few she actually knew, would happen to be in the elevator once it arrived. The bell dinged, she moved back slightly, bracing herself for a dreaded confrontation. The doors opened. Nobody. She let out the breath she'd been holding and entered quickly, pressing the button for her floor and leaning heavily against the elevator wall.

A minute later, she exited onto her floor, opened her front door and hurriedly ensconced herself inside the empty apartment. She dropped her bag onto the rug, shrugged off her coat and tossed it over the back of a nearby chair. She stood still a moment, surveying her apartment, trying to decide what to do next. She knew she should just go directly to bed. But she also knew she wouldn't be able to sleep.

After flipping on a small lamp, she headed over to the small side table where a few bottles of liquor sat next to a rarely used wine decanter and set of fancy cocktail glasses. The glassware, a wedding present. She had no idea why she'd even ended up keeping it. She should have given it to Russ when they divorced, but somehow it had gotten lost in the chaos of that period in her life and she'd ended up with it herself. And here it sat. Rarely used. More of a decoration than anything. She fingered the bottles, one by one. Most of them holiday gifts from her time at the Bureau. From co-workers. From her secretary. It only struck her now how odd such offerings had been; she rarely drank anything but beer or wine.

Finally clasping her fingers around the neck of the nearly full bottle of scotch, she snatched it up and began to open it. Her other hand grabbed a glass and she slowly poured herself a healthy shot. Or perhaps it counted as two. She wasn't certain. She debated trekking to the kitchen to retrieve an ice cube but decided that was too much work. She'd do without, even though she normally took it on the rocks. On those rare occasions she partook at all.

She moved slowly over to the couch, bottle in one hand, glass in the other, the odor of the liquor already permeating her nostrils, making her grimace slightly. As she found a comfortable position she wondered idly again if she shouldn't just call Mac. It suddenly dawned on her she'd never even informed him of the shooting. She'd returned to the Lab following the incident. To complete her own report. To complete her IAB interview. But he'd been at the Precinct all day and by the time she ended up there, he'd already left. She assumed he knew, even if he hadn't been back to read her report. Someone, probably Don, certainly would have informed him of Keith Lewis' death. And her responsibility for it. But she should have made more of an effort to seek him out. To let him know first hand. It certainly gave her an excuse to call now. To talk. Hell, not just an excuse. But an actual, valid reason. She frowned. Glanced at her watch. But not now. Another time. It was too late now. But, oddly, it didn't seem it would be too late tomorrow. Or even Monday. She'd just put it off 'til then.

She sighed, and took a long drink of the whiskey. Let it trail slowly down her throat. Felt the numbing burn as it went down. She wished it would numb more than just her throat.

She lay her head back, resting it heavily on the couch cushion. She closed her eyes. And a moment later, she finally relaxed and let the tears begin to flow.

-/-/-/-/-

Halfway across town Mac pulled away slowly from Christine. From her lips, her embrace, the familiar, clean scent of her skin. He smiled at her and ran his fingers through a strand of her blond hair, brushing it back from her face so he could better see her expression. She returned his smile with a small smirk and nodded up towards the door.

"Now, what do you say to that glass of wine and a fire?" Her voice was soft, with just a hint of playfulness.

He chuckled. "I think I'm ready now."

He reached down to pick up her sack of groceries, nestling them in the crook of one arm, and offering his other to her. She took it and they walked hand in hand up the stairway. As they paused in front of the door, Christine's hand released his to search for her keys in her purse. He watched, amused, as she rummaged around in a seemingly futile attempt to locate them in the small bag. She finally pulled out the keyring, holding it up as if it were a prize. Which made him notice her smooth, unadorned hands. Which made him realize how beautiful, and striking, a single diamond ring would look on them. Which, oddly enough, made him think of their dissimilarity with Jo's hands, which were always clad with multiple pieces of jewelry.

Jo. He started suddenly and look down at his watch. It was half past 10 p.m. He'd forgotten to call Jo. To check in about the shooting. He hadn't seen any of the reports, as he hadn't returned to the Lab. But Lindsay had informed him of the shooting while at the Precinct, and IAB had contacted him following the interview, to inform him that she'd been cleared. Yet he hadn't spoken to Jo herself. He was rather surprised she hadn't contacted him. He pulled his phone out partially from his pocket, trying to hide it from Christine's view as she fumbled with the key, trying to insert it into the lock. He turned on the screen. No missed calls. He sighed inwardly. He knew he should call. In fact, truth be told, she'd been in the back of his mind now for quite some time. Ever since he'd snapped at her for getting too close for his comfort to his aphasia. Quite honestly, she probably deserved more than a call. But he hadn't quite figured out how to go about taking that step. So he simply hadn't.

He heard Christine laugh next to him and he turned his attention back to her.

"Oh heavens. I'm so nervous, my hands are shaking. I can't even open the door."

Mac smiled and gently took the keys from her hand, shifting forwards to open the door. His mind trailed back to Jo for just a moment longer. Thinking that, if not for her and that damned social networking page she and Lindsay had set up for him, he wouldn't be standing here, right now, on the brink of an entirely new phase of his life. Yet he'd never thought to thank her. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. He had a lot of things he probably needed to talk to her about. That she deserved to have him talk to her about. And quite honestly, her role in his reconnecting with Christine was probably the least of them. But he definitely owed her a call. Or rather a conversation. In person.

His attention trailed back over to Christine, smiling up at him as he held open the door for her to pass through_. But certainly not now_, he thought. _Another time._ It had already been months. Another day or two to sit down with her? It wouldn't be too late...

**A/N: Thanks to all who are reading.**


	3. Chapter 3

_**End of Previous Chapter:**_

Mac smiled and gently took the keys from her hand, shifting forwards to open the door. His mind trailed back to Jo for just a moment longer. Thinking that, if not for her and that damned social networking page she and Lindsay had set up for him, he wouldn't be standing here, right now, on the brink of an entirely new phase of his life. Yet he'd never thought to thank her. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. He had a lot of things he probably needed to talk to her about. That she deserved to have him talk to her about. And quite honestly, her role in his reconnecting with Christine was probably the least of them. But he definitely owed her a call. Or rather a conversation. In person.

His attention trailed back over to Christine, smiling up at him as he held open the door for her to pass through_. But certainly not now_, he thought. _Another time._ It had already been months. Another day or two to sit down with her? It wouldn't be too late...

**Chapter 3**

Mac sat on the edge of the bed staring at his phone, willing the battery indicator to register just enough power for the device to spring back to life. He berated himself internally for having forgotten to plug it in to the charger last night before he and Christine climbed into bed together. He supposed he could allow himself that one small lapse in his usually meticulous habits, particularly in light of everything that had happened yesterday, both professionally and personally. He'd not only been exhausted upon retiring last night, but rather giddy as well. Thankfully, he hadn't been on call. But for Christ's sake, he was the head of the Crime Lab. He should be reachable at all times, on shift, on call, or just…if needed. He shook his head, still annoyed with himself, wondering idly if he'd ever bothered to give Dispatch Christine's home number, on the off chance they ever really needed to reach him and he wasn't responding through any other means.

Hearing the sudden, harsh drone of the hair dryer turning on, he glanced up at the closed bathroom door where Christine had disappeared earlier to shower. She'd seemed slightly perplexed this morning upon waking to find him up, fully showered and just tucking his shirt into his jeans. But she'd said nothing. He'd never been one for sleeping in. She wasn't usually the type either, so when she hadn't woken up by 7:00, he'd just assumed she was worn out and decided to let her sleep. In retrospect, he realized perhaps he should have stayed in bed as well. With her. If she'd been awake, he certainly would have. But he'd felt as if he were wasting time just lying there while she dozed. He sighed. He really was trying his best at the whole intimate relationship thing. Harder than he ever had during the past 12 years. Unfortunately, he didn't always do the right thing. He often let his instincts, borne of so many years of being more or less alone, kick in without a second thought. But he was always sincere. And thankfully, Christine had been relatively patient with him. Well, most of the time.

His phone finally beeped to life and he snatched it up within an instant. Only one missed call. From Jo. His brow furrowed. The call was tagged at nearly 2 a.m. She hadn't tried him a second time. But then, he wasn't certain whether that was a good sign or bad. A quick glance at his watch and he decided it wasn't too terribly early to give her a call, despite the fact he knew she was off today as well. He pressed her name on the screen and waited as it rang, hoping he hadn't missed something urgent.

-/-/-/-/-

_Jo slowly opened the mailbox. And found a phone. She frowned. Where was that Goddamn gun? She knew it was here somewhere. In one of these mailboxes. But all she could find were phones. Inside every single box. Every single time she opened a door. Another phone. Ringing. Interminably. She began opening them more and more quickly. Her hands suddenly flying across the bank of boxes. The doors flying open one after another, cracking against the wall, slamming into each other. Only to reveal more phones. Of all shapes and sizes. All ringing with the same ring tone… but no gun._

Jo gasped loudly and her eyes suddenly flew open. Then wrenched shut again in reaction to the blindingly brilliant light shining directly into them. She managed to barely creak open one eyelid and glance down briefly to see herself, fully clothed, lying curled up on her couch, flooded in sunlight from the wide open blinds, an empty glass clutched in her right hand, tilted at an odd angle and barely propped against her stomach. A soft groan emanated from between her dry lips. She reached out her hand, aiming to set down the glass on the coffee table but missing by several inches. It dropped to the rug instead with a soft thud that echoed inside her skull like a bass drum.

Wincing slightly, her hand scrabbled over the surface of the table in search of her phone, her eyes closed again now, unable to tolerate any longer the stark light flooding her living room. Finally locating her phone, she risked a quick, squinting glance that told her it was 8 a.m. and it was Mac calling her. Damn. She wasn't on call today. Another furtive glance at the bottle of scotch next to her phone told her she was in no condition to be called into work right now. But then the pounding in her head, the roiling of her stomach, the spinning of the room around her could have told her that without even bothering to open her eyes.

She finally fumbled the phone to her ear and somehow managed to accept the call before her voicemail picked up. "'ello?" Her voice wasn't working and she tried to clear her throat. "Da…," her voice failed completely. She tried again to enunciate the words, with minimal success. Her throat was so parched she thought she might choke any second. "Da…ville.

Mac hesitated. She'd clearly been asleep. Her voice sounded raspy, her nose stuffy, as if she were ill. "Jo? It's Mac. Did I wake you?"

She brought her free hand up to massage her throbbing forehead for a moment. "Uhm, possibly." She wrinkled her face. Her voice sounded like the croaking of a half drowned frog, and no matter how many times she cleared her throat, she couldn't seem to manage to make it work.

He smiled lightly, imagining her trying in vain to wake herself up, but it quickly turned to a frown. Half asleep or not, she still didn't sound right. "Are you ok? Do you have a cold?"

She cleared her throat yet again. But it wasn't really making a difference. "No. Just...it's nothing. I'm fine. Just…stayed up too late watching tv." She coughed. Once. Twice. Then continued. "Is something the matter?"

Mac furrowed his brow. "No…," he hesitated a moment. "Uhm, you called me last night. But I guess…I didn't hear the call. I'd meant to call you earlier Jo, but...I…something came up and then my phone died and….well, I just wanted to make sure everything was ok. With you. Are you ok?"

A wave of mild panic rushed through her as an image suddenly pushed its way to the forefront of her memory. An image of her, lying on the couch last night, at least four too many scotches past midnight, debating quite vocally with herself the pros and cons of telephoning her boss at such an hour. And not just to clear her conscience about the shooting, although that was certainly a prominent topic. She was pretty sure some thoughts of a purely personal nature may have been voiced at some point during her drunken soliloquy. Her free hand rose up and covered her face, as if that gesture might make it all just…go away. Disappear, not just from her own memory, but from reality as well. As if it had never, ever happened.

But unfortunately, it had. And now she had to deal with the fact that, in a moment of inebriated soul-searching, she'd nearly managed to call Mac and clue him in to the embarrassing fact of her evening's intemperance. And while he hadn't actually answered - _Thank the Lord_ – she had nonetheless failed to avoid leaving any evidence. So now his curiosity would be piqued as to why on earth she had been calling him in the middle of the night. She took a deep breath. "Oh... Mac, I'm sorry. That call was…actually…an accident. My finger slipped. I pressed the wrong button. I really thought I'd managed to end it before it went through to you. I'm so sorry if I disturbed you. Me and my clumsy thumbs."

He wanted to smile at her joking tone, but he couldn't help but think it wasn't really genuine. He wondered in passing whom she would have been trying to call in the middle of the night, but decided it was probably none of his business. "Jo, don't apologize. I didn't even hear it. But when I saw it this morning…well…I was worried. About you. You're ok though?"

She hesitated, not exactly certain how to answer that without being caught in an obvious lie. She knew he could tell she was doing poorly just from the sound of her voice. But while she debated what to say, Mac seemed to forget he'd even asked her a question and he continued on a few moments later.

"Listen. Jo. There's something I wanted to tell you. Do... Are you…Would you want to...meet for coffee or brunch or…something this morning. I, uh, I just thought maybe we could talk."

Jo hesitated, one eyebrow insisting on arching upwards despite her desire to keep her eyes open as narrowly as possible. Now this was certainly unexpected. They hadn't gone out for months. In fact, they'd hardly talked for months unless it was case-related. And she could probably count on one hand the times that they'd joked with each other ever since he'd told her to stay out of his personal business. Yet here he was asking her out to 'talk'.

She pondered how to respond. Last night she would likely have jumped at the opportunity, without a passing thought. Out of desperation if nothing else. But now, that longing for his company, that oppressive need to talk about the shooting, that she'd felt so strongly last night, had become subsumed by her usual fierce streak of independence. If she were to so easily acquiesce to his nonchalant request to join him for coffee to 'talk', it would seem as if she was, in fact, acquiescing to the manner in which he treated her so...cheaply over the past few months. If Mac Taylor wanted to make up for the past few months of treating her like nothing more than a second-class employee, well, he was going to have to try a little harder. Her brow furrowed in frustration, verging on anger.

Mac was all too aware of the silence on the other end of the line. It was rendering him more and more uncomfortable by the minute as he imagined what excuse Jo would likely come up with to avoid talking with him. He cleared his throat out of nervousness, wishing that perhaps he'd not even called her in the first place this morning.

Jo scowled. She knew he would be uncomfortable at her failure to respond. Which was fine with her. But she also knew that the longer she debated, the less of an impact whatever she eventually said would have. Yet she couldn't seem to figure out what to say to make this any harder for him. Damn that scotch. She just wasn't herself this morning. She squinted her eyes hard and shook her head a moment, trying to dispel the family of cotton balls that had clearly taken up residence in her brain overnight. She had a royal headache already and she hadn't even stood up yet. She sighed, more loudly than she'd intended, frustrated at her inability to come up with some trite way to torture him for his aloof demeanor over the past several months. She bit her lip. Then frowned slightly. Then shook her head as her shoulders sagged. In the end, maybe she'd just face him in person. After all, that was probably more her usual style. She didn't need to hide at the other end of a phone line in order to confront him about his recent behavior towards her.

At this point, Mac was certain she was going to say no. And he began trying to think of how he might push her to reschedule, before he lost his nerve and just put it off for another few months. His efforts were interrupted when Jo suddenly spoke.

"Umm. Sure Mac. We could meet somewhere. I don't have any plans. Actually, there's something I've been wanting to talk to you about too." She took a deep breath as her stomach churned alarmingly. Too much hard liquor and no dinner. Lord, she was quite the mess this morning. Thank God Mac had merely called and not stopped by.

Mac was so surprised at her response that for a moment, he was rendered speechless.

"Mac? Are you still there?" Jo shifted slightly on the couch, feeling worse by the minute and wanting nothing more than to end this call. Now.

He coughed. "Yea. I'm here. Why don't I meet you somewhere close to your place? I'm guessing you're not ready yet. I can catch the subway and be there in say 30-40 minutes? How about that little café a couple blocks from your place - the Cajun one we went to about a year ago? We could just have coffee or if you haven't eaten…"

The thought of eating anything - especially anything remotely spicy for brunch - nearly made Jo gag and she cut him off sharply. Her voice rushed over the words. "Fine. Thirty minutes. Cecile's on Hudson." And she hung up.

Mac stared at the phone for a moment, pondering her abrupt termination of the call. Perhaps she was worried she wouldn't have enough time to get ready. Although something told him she wasn't well. He lay the phone back on the night table with a sigh, wondering what was wrong with her. He should have checked in with her last might. Hearing the bathroom door open, he looked up and smiled as Christine entered, wrapped up in a towel. He pushed his concern for Jo to the wayside, at least for now, as Christine came over, sat down next to him and drew him into an embrace.

-/-/-/-/-

After tossing her phone onto the coffee table with a rather unwelcome thump, Jo leaned back to lie perfectly still on the couch for a few moments. She shouldn't have drunk so much. She knew it. Had known it - even as she was doing so last night. She'd done it merely because she knew she could. She wasn't on shift. She wasn't on call. And even if some emergency arose and they were short staffed, she was relegated to 24 hours of desk duty anyway. Department policy following an officer involved shooting. Even despite her rapid clearance by IAB. She couldn't work in the field if she'd begged. So much for work.

Family? A small smile tugged at her mouth as she thought of sweet Ellie. Who wasn't just across town on a sleepover. She was halfway across the state, safe under the watchful eye of her soccer coach, parent chaperones and teammates, trying their best to keep up their winning streak and get into the state playoffs. And Tyler - not one to pop in on a regular basis anyway, he had flown down to D.C. with Russ for the weekend. She was free and clear of any obligation whatsoever to anyone or anything. No work. No family. A rare several hours in which she was completely unaccountable.

And look how she'd chosen to spend it. She shook her head without thinking and grimaced as the pounding increased tenfold inside her brain and the room began to spin wildly. Gripping the couch cushion, she sat up ever so slowly, glancing carefully at her watch. If she was going to be anywhere near on time to meet Mac, she'd need to start moving. Taking a deep breath, she stood slowly, one hand on the couch arm for balance, the other shielding her eyes from the damnable sunlight streaming through the window. She walked slowly, resolutely, towards the hallway and the bathroom halfway down it. If she could just make it there. And into the shower. Everything would be all right.

-/-/-/-/-

Christine pulled back slowly from their kiss, the smile in her eyes nearly brighter than the one that graced her mouth. She placed her hand on Mac's knee, patting him gently. She nodded to his phone.

"Were you on the phone? I thought I heard you talking to someone." She removed her hand and stood, walking into the large closet and grabbing the clothes she'd already laid out.

He nodded absently. "Jo. We're meeting for coffee. Or brunch. I'm not sure actually." He frowned realizing they'd never really set an exact plan for this morning's get together.

Christine paused, her pullover poised in mid-air above her head, that sort of goofy, quizzical expression on her face that he'd come to find so endearing. "You're not sure?" She laughed slightly as she resumed pulling her sweater over her head.

Mac seemed lost in thought so she continued, not really having expected any sort of response in any case. "How is Jo anyway? I don't think I've seen her the past few months, and you hardly mention her."

"She's…," he paused, suddenly unsure of how to respond. Come to think if it, he had absolutely no idea how she was. Mac cleared his throat. "I'm not really sure. She was involved in a shooting yesterday evening."

He paused, slightly startled, as he heard Christine's gasp, saw her hand rise up instinctively to cover her mouth. "Oh!" She exclaimed. "Is she ok?"

Mac shook his head, then switched it to a nod. "She's not hurt. But I… didn't really get a chance to talk to her. That's part of the reason I wanted to meet up with her this morning."

Christine nodded, concern written across her face. "Well, of course. Tell her 'hi' for me, ok? I hope everything's all right."

Mac smiled and nodded, his attention fully back to Christine for the moment. He stood up and approached her, reaching out his hands to smooth out the static electricity in her hair from the friction of her sweater. He leaned in and kissed her forehead. "You're sure you're busy all day? No chance of escape?" He asked quietly as he stepped back slightly to watch as she pulled on her trousers.

She smiled sadly but didn't meet his gaze, her attention distracted by the closure on her pants. "Oh, Mac, I'm so sorry. How often do you actually have a weekend day completely off, and here I've got this whole catering thing, right up until the dinner rush tonight. I'm gonna be slammed all day. And Tracy's not feeling great – she won't be that much of a help." She finished buttoning her waistband and, finally looking up, she reached out to gently caress his cheek. "Spend some time with Jo, why don't you? She could probably benefit from a friendly ear after last night."

Mac's brow furrowed, not entirely certain Jo was particularly looking forward to confiding anything in his ear, but he nodded anyway. Christine took a step back to grab a scarf and her purse, not noting the hesitancy in Mac's expression. "Hey Mac. Does Jo have a boyfriend?"

Mac frowned a moment. His memory trailed to Agent Conover for just an instant, but then he'd neither heard nor seen anything of him since he and Jo's quick trip to San Francisco several months back. He was certain there'd been something between those two, but it was just a hunch. They'd been nothing but professional around him. "No, not…that I know of. Why?" He smiled oddly. "You have some one in mind?"

She laughed lightly, then shook her head slowly, her brow crinkling. "No. She's a hard one, she is. I don't think I know anyone that would quite match her. I only asked because I was thinking maybe we should invite her to dinner one night. It'd be fun. And I was just curious if she might bring someone."

Mac gave her a half smile. "That's…nice of you, Christine."

She paused, a contemplative look about her. "Well, I guess we could ask her over and just see what happens." Before Mac could comment, she glanced down at her watch and groaned. "Oh. I'm running late already. I need to get outta here." She took a step forward, then paused just at his side, reaching out to place her hands on his shoulders. "I love you Mac Taylor. So very much." She smiled up at him. "Now. You…have fun today. Enjoy yourself. Go cheer up Jo. Do something fun together. And find out if she has someone special in her life." She placed a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth and stepped past him, leaving Mac in the closet, a look of mild dread on his face.

**A/N: A huge thanks to those who have read and especially reviewed. I've had the flu and just haven't had the energy to thank everyone personally. But I really do appreciate all the kind words.**


	4. Chapter 4

_**End of Previous Chapter:**_

Mac gave her a half smile. "That's…nice of you, Christine."

She paused, a contemplative look about her. "Well, I guess we could ask her over and just see what happens." Before Mac could comment, she glanced down at her watch and groaned. "Oh. I'm running late already. I need to get outta here." She took a step forward, then paused just at his side, reaching out to place her hands on his shoulders. "I love you Mac Taylor. So very much." She smiled up at him. "Now. You…have fun today. Enjoy yourself. Go cheer up Jo. Do something fun together. And find out if she has someone special in her life." She placed a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth and stepped past him, leaving Mac in the closet, a look of mild dread on his face.

**Too Late…? Chapter 4:**

Mac took a step back from the edge of the subway platform just as the train pulled up. He waited as the doors opened and a young woman with a double stroller maneuvered off the car, then he entered, quickly scanning the seating options. The subway was relatively empty this early on a Saturday morning, so Mac quickly found a quiet seat in the corner, far from the door, and slid into it, leaning back and relaxing slightly in preparation for the twenty minute ride to Jo's neighborhood.

Although he didn't risk closing his eyes, he did manage to block out everything around him so that he could focus on his upcoming brunch with Jo. He knew he needed to talk to her. To thank her. To apologize to her. So many different emotions rose to the surface whenever he took a minute to really think about her, about their relationship, that it had started to become overwhelming. In the end, he would simply push her from his thoughts for fear of being consumed by guilt for the way in which their relationship had disintegrated. Over so many months now. _Because of me_, he admitted rather grudgingly.

He sighed, as he realized most in the Lab probably hadn't even noticed anything was amiss between the two senior detectives. He still treated her as the accomplished professional that she was. An astute detective and talented CSI, a responsible supervisor when she was called on to fulfill the role. Someone he wouldn't hesitate to delegate the most complex task or sensitive case to. No, there was nothing out of the ordinary in the way he actively treated her on the job, on a case. It was more the way in which he passively avoided interacting with her under any other circumstance.

But even if no one else was, he knew she was aware of it. And he was bound and determined that today, somehow, he would make amends. Thank her for her concern, for her unwavering support, and apologize to her. Apologize for how he'd reacted when her concern for him, borne merely of deep friendship, had wrongly been perceived as an incursion into his personal hardships, which he knew know he shouldn't have kept so private. He just needed to figure out exactly how to go about doing those seemingly very simple things…

-/-/-/-/-

Jo walked slowly out of her bedroom swathed in black jeans, a bulky black sweater, black boots, and a black scarf with just a thread of deep blue throughout. Everything perfectly matching her dark mood right about now, she thought to herself humorlessly. Before her shower, she'd drunk a gallon of water, downed at least a double dose of aspirin, and forced herself to swallow some horrific pink-colored substance with the consistency of chalk dust dissolved in milk – something that Ellie had bought a while back when she had an upset stomach the night before a match. But Jo still felt like hell. In fact, she was beginning to wonder if she wasn't perhaps starting to feel even worse now, with that combination of medicine sloshing around in her stomach.

She wondered idly if it didn't just make sense to cancel her meeting with Mac. She glanced down at her watch. She had five minutes. He was probably already there. And if she cancelled, she had the uneasy sense that he would just come over anyway, given he was only two blocks away. He'd sounded rather…desperate to talk with her. At least at the café, she could leave, if necessary. Feign illness. Or admit to it, rather. If he came here, it would complicate any possibility of escape.

Reaching the entry, she leaned down to pick up her purse from the floor where she'd deposited it last night and froze, as a double wave of nausea and vertigo slammed through her. Kneeling all the way down, she forced herself to breathe deeply and thought back to all those weeks when she was at the Bureau, newly pregnant with Tyler. She'd managed to make it through months of morning sickness then, with no one the wiser to her condition until it became physically apparent. Surely she could manage to get through one morning with Mac despite her discomfort.

As the reeling subsided, she stood slowly back up and grabbed her coat from the hook. Hangover or no, she knew she needed to finally sit down and hash out exactly what had happened between her and Mac over the past several months. And the fact that he'd been the one to suggest they get together today just gave her even more reason to take up his offer, regardless of how poorly she felt. If he'd been the one suggest a meeting, at least he wouldn't shut down as soon as she breached the subject of their crumbling relationship. Or so she hoped.

But as she waited for the elevator in the hall outside her apartment, she suddenly began to second guess Mac's intentions. He'd said he wanted to talk. But about what exactly? She realized she had no idea. A slight furrow crept across her brow. For all she knew, perhaps she really had talked with him on the phone last night, or left a message in her drunken stupor, and now he was preparing to fire her. She quelled a slight chuckle at that thought. No. She would have remembered that, no matter how miserable she may have been. But perhaps he only wanted to discuss the shooting or the IAB report. Maybe he was having concerns just as she was, despite her easy clearance. Maybe, in reality, he had no intention of even bringing up their relationship over the past several months. She frowned at that thought.

The elevator opened and she stepped inside, pressing the Lobby button. As it began to descend, she felt her stomach lurch again, but pushed the feeling to the back of her mind, determined to make it through this morning without showing any weakness. She may have made the decision to drown her feelings in alcohol last night, but she wasn't going to hide behind a hangover this morning.

In all honestly, she was annoyed with herself, her behavior, her choice of alcohol as a palliative last night. When all she'd really wanted, needed, was to talk over the shooting. And she knew that anyone she'd approached would have been happy to hear her out. But she'd been bullheaded to say the least. Refusing to consider anyone but Mac while knowing that he was the only one that she considered truly unapproachable right now.

The desire to hash out her concerns about the shooting was still there, somewhere. She hadn't quite moved past it yet. Rather, pushed it back, out of necessity. If Mac brought it up today, she'd probably still welcome the chance to get it off her chest. But now, she was realizing more than ever that the disintegration of their friendship, it's negative impact on her job and her happiness, needed to take precedence over anything else. She just wanted things to go back to how they'd been, ages ago, it seemed now. Come to think of it, back to how they'd been…before he'd been shot.

She considered that a moment. Back to what things were like between them _before he'd been shot._ Maybe she'd been looking at this all wrong. She'd just assumed that he'd felt threatened when she noticed all was not well upon his return to the Lab. When she'd confronted him in his office about his health. Then gone behind his back and questioned Christine about his behavior, despite his firm denial of anything being different.

She nodded slightly to herself, as she now realized he had begun pulling away from her much earlier. After his shooting, she'd regularly visited him at the hospital. He'd been polite, but seemed somehow uncomfortable with her presence there. The same had happened once he'd been discharged and she'd visited him at his place. Or at Christine's. She hadn't thought much of it. He was in pain. In recovery. In rehab. On medication. In a situation in which he was completely dependant on everyone around him to take care of him. A situation his personality did not lend itself easily to at all. A bit of moodiness on his part hadn't really struck her as unexpected given the circumstances.

But the fact that it hadn't changed once he returned to work? Perhaps this really was all about Mac Taylor's damned pride, more so than his concern that she was butting into his personal life. He just couldn't stand for anyone to see him in less than top-notch condition. In a position of perceived debility. She shook her head. Good Lord, did he really think that she would think any less of him simply because he had been in recovery for half a year and more following a near fatal gunshot wound? Perhaps that confrontation in his office, her questioning of Christine, had been the last straw in what Mac perceived as her continually bearing witness to 'weaknesses', 'deficiencies', 'vulnerabilities', in the normally impenetrable fortress of his character.

She shook her head at the stupidity of it all. He just needed some reaffirmation that she didn't think any less of him for the difficulties he'd been through. Good heavens, quite the opposite. She thought even more highly of him after overcoming such trauma. But she could have done without his harsh treatment of her. When all she was doing was trying to show her concern for him. As her friend, whom she still loved very deeply despite their distance.

The elevator opened and she exited, feeling much better mentally, if not physically. Although all this thinking was making her head throb even more than before. As she crossed the Lobby, she deliberately averted her gaze from the darkened mail alcove, focusing instead on the sunlight streaming in through the front door. However, as she approached it, the brightness began to sting in her eyes and she quickly grabbed her sunglasses from inside her purse. She shoved them on before taking a slow, deep breath and pushed open the door, venturing outside and turning to her left. Two blocks to the café. Two blocks until she could sit down and not have to move for a while. Or think too hard, she hoped. Two blocks until she'd hopefully be able to bridge the chasm that had erupted between her and Mac, once and for all. Only two blocks, and everything would be ok. She could manage.

-/-/-/-/-

Mac arrived at the corner café a few minutes early, grabbing the last open table against a window, halfway between the kitchen and the front door. The table was positioned at such an angle that it was bathed in the early morning sunlight and he sat down, a slight smile on his face, happily divesting himself of his jacket and letting the combined warmth from the rays of sun before him and the ovens behind chase the late winter chill from his bones. When the waitress approached with menus, he ordered a coffee for himself and after a moment's debate, one for Jo as well.

Shortly after the waitress brought over their two steaming cups of coffee, Mac heard the muffled jingle of the bell on the door. He turned to see Jo step inside and pause suddenly. She hesitated, as the odor of coffee and spices, the heat from the kitchen, and the loud clinking of dishes being cleared all assailed her senses in one large wave. For a moment, it seemed overpowering and she reached out her hand to steady herself on the door as it slowly closed, hoping it had merely looked as if she were pulling it shut. She knew Mac was watching her and after steeling herself against the vibrant interior of the café, she walked over to him, a forced smile on her face, her sunglasses still shielding her eyes.

Jo reached the table and just as she stepped to the side to grab the back of her chair, Mac rose suddenly and thrust out his own hand to pull her chair out as well. Their actions couldn't have been more poorly timed. Jo saw him move, but reacted much too slowly to be able to stop herself as she stepped into his path. Mac didn't expect her to move towards him and instead of grabbing her chair, he ended up punching her in the thigh. Mac retracted his hand as quickly as he could, Jo let out a tiny exclamation of surprise. They both stepped back from each other, murmuring apologies, laughing slightly at their sudden awkwardness, and Jo ended up pulling out her chair herself, moving it to the other side of the table so she was across from Mac, instead of at a right angle.

She sat down heavily and let out a rather deep sigh, her hand reaching up to her face, first resting just a moment at her temple and massaging it lightly, before fingering her sunglasses. She seemed to hesitate slightly but finally removed them and stashed them in her purse. She shifted her chair away from the sunlight filtering through the window and her eyes finally trailed up to Mac and she smiled slightly.

"Hi," she murmured softly.

Her voice, although stronger than when he'd first spoken to her on the phone, still sounded rather rough. He looked at her a moment before responding. He hated to say it, but she'd definitely looked better. He assumed her pallor was the result of the stress of the shooting last night. The dark circles under her eyes the result of her inability to sleep. She'd already told him she was up late watching tv. How many nights had he lain awake agonizing over some work related issue? He could certainly understand what she must be going through. But then, there was something else in her expression he couldn't quite pinpoint...

His attention snapped back to reality as he noticed her eyeing the two cups of coffee in the middle of the table.

"I got you a coffee…"

She nodded hesitantly and he watched, curious as she reached out a tentative hand and toyed with the handle. But didn't pick it up. He cocked his head slightly.

"Are you ok, Jo?"

Her eyebrows twitched ever so slightly. The thought of lifting the cup of coffee to her mouth, inhaling the acrid odor, tasting the bitterness of the brew, had made her stomach lurch yet again, and she new he'd caught the grimace that had passed over her face before she managed to camouflage it. She drew her hand back from the coffee cup, leaving the steaming black liquid untouched, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat that was moving steadily upwards.

His brow furrowed. "Have you given up coffee? I can get you something else…" He looked defeated, as if the coffee had been a long thought out peace offering of sorts that she'd rejected without even the slightest consideration.

She sighed. "I'm sorry Mac. My stomach's just not quite…right this morning. I think I might just stick with some chamomile tea."

Mac nodded and motioned the waitress over, then looked back at Jo. "Anything to eat?"

She threw him a look that made it very clear that was the last thing she wanted right now, so he ordered her the tea and a bowl of oatmeal for himself.

They sat in silence for a moment, each avoiding the other's gaze until the waitress returned with the pot of tea. Mac reached out to pour her a cup and Jo nodded her thanks.

She picked up the tea and held it cupped between her hands, moving it closer to her face and letting the steam permeate her nostrils. The odor was refreshing and she wished she could just sit like that, with no interruption, for as long as she liked.

Mac cleared his throat, startling her from her reverie.

"That better?" He asked, indicating the tea with a motion of his head.

She smiled and nodded in response.

And then they returned to their less than comfortable silence. After a minute, Jo took a slow sip and placed the cup back on the table. She felt like she'd been set up on some terribly mismatched blind date. This was just silly. This was Mac. How long had they known each other? Worked together? How many times had they gone out for a bite to eat? Even if it was nearly a year ago. And yet their relationship, built up over a span of three years, had been reduced to this? She shook her head. There was just no excuse for the way they were tiptoeing around each other right now.

She really wanted to speak. But her mind was in a jumble and she couldn't seem to organize any of those brilliant thoughts she'd had in the elevator before coming here. Uncertain what exactly she wanted to say first, she decided to buy some time and turn the tables to Mac. She was curious what he'd wanted to talk to her about anyway. She glanced over and gave him a piercing gaze, but his attention was focused on the cup of coffee in front of him. She frowned, finally clearing her throat.

"What did you want to tell me Mac?"

He looked up at her suddenly, a look of fearful surprise evident in his eyes, almost as if he'd forgotten she was even there. But after a moment, he licked his lips and opened his mouth to speak.

"I...uh," he stuttered. Then hesitated. He shook his head slightly and looked away from her. Why was it always so hard to voice his feelings? This really shouldn't be that difficult. But for some reason, right now, everything he'd thought of in the subway was lost to him. He glanced up at Jo who was looking at him intently, her expression in that moment unreadable. His phone beeped suddenly and his attention was drawn downwards as he pulled the device from his pocket to see a text from Christine.

"_Miss you already. Wish we could've spent the day together. Love, C"_

A slight smile threatened to tug at his lips, but he suppressed it at once and replaced his phone.

His gaze trailed slowly upwards, stopping just below Jo's eye level, seemingly unable to meet her stare. He suddenly realized it probably looked as if he were staring directly at her chest, so he averted his gaze back to the safety of his own coffee cup. He took a long, drawn out breath and tried again to open up to her, speaking the first words that came to his mind.

"I...proposedtoChristine…lastnight."

The words came out hurriedly, all strung together nearly as one. But Jo caught what he'd said immediately. That was the absolute last thing she'd expected him to say right now. Not that it should necessarily come as a surprise. But at this precise moment, for some reason, it had come as quite a shock.

Mac shook his head. That wasn't exactly how he'd intended to start out this morning, but Christine's text had distracted him. He swallowed hard, glancing ever so slowly up at Jo's face. Suddenly, he was not at all confident in what reaction that bit of information might bring forth from her. But when their eyes locked, her face looked exactly the same as it had earlier. Calm, inquisitive, with just a twinge of discomfort. Because of her stomach, he reminded himself.

Had he looked up a split second earlier he would have perhaps noticed her eyes blink. Once. Twice. In quick succession. But if nothing else, Jo Danville was an expert at camouflaging her deepest emotions when necessary. Whether for her job, or, in this case, for her personal sanity.

So, a mere heartbeat later, a soft smile broke out on her face. A smile that, while not effusive, managed to effectively swipe away any sign of discomfort that may have been evident a moment earlier, whether from her defiant stomach, or…something else.

"Congratulations, Mac. I'm glad you're...content." She took a deep breath. Thankful she'd caught herself before the first word she'd thought of slid off her tongue. 'Satisfied'. 'I'm glad you're _satisfied.'_ _Now wouldn't that just have been terribly inappropriate?_

Mac stared at her a moment. There was something in how she'd spoken that last word - or perhaps in just the word choice itself - that sounded…wrong. But he let it go. Wanting to continue, while the words were still in his mind.

"Well, I...also wanted to thank you, in part, for that." He paused, suddenly feeling awkward.

Her eyebrows quirked. Uncertain what she might have done recently that would elicit any declaration of thanks from him. Her work when Christine was kidnapped?

Seeing her confused look, he tried to elaborate. "Well. I suppose I have you to thank for setting up that social networking page. With Lindsay. That's how Christine found me last year. And, also, for your encouragement…your concern…your support…over the past year. As far as my…personal life…goes…I guess you could say…"

He seemed to trail off, but a quick look at his expression signaled her that he had finished. She had absolutely no idea what exactly he'd just said. 'Personal life'. Was he just talking about Christine and their relationship? Or how she herself had encouraged him to get out more? Or was this somehow tied to her inquiries into his health. Her incursion into his personal business, which he'd quite clearly berated her for mere months before. But before she could even figure out how to pin him down, he moved on.

"You said you had something to tell me too." He raised his eyebrows, an expectant look about him.

Her head nodded almost imperceptibly. And a small smirk suddenly broke out on her face. Growing with each passing moment. Mac furrowed his eyebrows at that, but before he could say anything she spoke.

"Yes, Mac. I did want to tell you something."

She paused a moment. She recalled how earlier she'd decided he just needed some encouragement that she cared for him, no matter what. That was what friendship was all about, right? She knew she was essentially starting from the end, rather than the beginning. But, sometimes that was just the way to go. Her smirk suddenly morphed into a rather quirky smile. "I did all that…because I love you Mac Taylor. Always have. Always will. I hope you see that."

She looked away a moment. Realizing that maybe that hadn't quite conveyed the exact sentiment she'd intended. But it was true. Every word.

Mac's mouth seemed not to be working, stuck midway between open and closed. Before he could speak, the waitress appeared suddenly and began pouring him another cup of coffee. She was carrying a plate of breakfast jambalaya in the crook of her arm, closest to Jo. The steam from the dish wafted across their table, the strong aroma of the spices mixing with the smell of the freshly poured coffee, the scent of the waitress's flowery perfume. All assailing Jo's nose. As the waitress left, Mac looked to Jo, intending to say…something, but he froze as his eyes caught her expression.

Mac watched as the smile fell from Jo's face and turned to a frown. Watched as she swallowed hard then turned her face away from the table and took a deep breath. Watched, confused, as she thrust her hand suddenly into her purse and pulled out a few wadded up dollar bills, placing them on the table. She coughed slightly, her hand rising to politely shield it, but then remaining at her mouth even after it passed. Then, much to Mac's surprise, she rose abruptly from her chair. "I…I really need to go. I'm not feeling well…at all," she murmured, her voice barely audible behind her hand, and she spun rather quickly on her heels, nearly knocking over her chair in her haste to leave.

Mac wanted to respond but she was already at the door. As he heard the jingle of the front bell, Mac could do nothing but turn and stare after Jo through the window as she hurried down the sidewalk.

He pondered what she'd just said. His eyebrows rose. But there was no amused smile to accompany it. No soft blush. No embarrassed chuckle. None if his usual responses to her trademark flirty comments. Because even though she'd been smiling a goofy smile when she spoke those words. Even though her tone had seemed rather playful. There was something in her eyes that made him think this was anything but one of those trademark flirty comments. At some level, this was more. This seemed - dare he even think it - _genuine_.

Mac's confidence faltered just a moment. All those times. Over the past three years. Her teasing. Her joking. Her subtle glances. Her innocent touches. He'd assumed she was just being, well, Jo. She did that to everyone. Right? But in retrospect, maybe she didn't. At least, not quite like that.

Sure, she 'adored' him. She'd confessed as much a while ago, albeit in a moment of emotional turmoil that shrouded the entire Lab. But this…this was not the same at all. Had he misinterpreted her hints all along. Had he refused to notice them all along? Had he been afraid to notice all along? Had safety, security, familiarity…his own cowardice...won out over novelty, uncertainty, mystery…his own courage to take a chance, to see what was right in front of him?

His phone buzzed, startling him, and he nearly dropped the coffee cup he hadn't realized he was gripping quite so tightly. He pulled out his phone, glancing at it. Christine. The edges of his lips turned upwards slightly then quickly flattened again. He hesitated, his finger hovering over the green 'Answer' button. Trying to figure out whether to go after Jo before she was too far gone to follow. To make sure she was ok. To find out what the hell was going on with her. Or answer Christine's call. Then. It was too late. The 'Answer' button faded away, the call embraced instead by his voicemail. He sighed. Decision made for him. He slowly slid the phone back into his pocket, without listening to the message he knew would follow. It would still be there later. And if it were truly an emergency, Christine would either call again or text him…

He placed his coffee cup down on the table, glancing at the bill and the wad of dollar bills Jo had dropped on the table. She'd left just enough cash for her pot of tea, but no more. He sighed and pulled from his pocket enough to cover the balance. He slid his chair out from under the table, but hesitated before standing up, a sudden thought invading his mind.

'Today is life. The only one we're sure of. Make the most of today.' The words rang through his head, for perhaps the hundredth time since Tori Bell had uttered them in the Precinct the day before. He'd already taken one giant leap towards making the most of his life. But he realized, in that moment, that he'd really only just begun taking the meaning of those words to heart. Just barely embarked on reconciling his life with the true sentiment behind that message. He still had a lot of catching up to do. But he had the whole day in front of him to start. He knew he and Jo still needed to talk. About so many things. Hopefully it wasn't too late. And he rose, heading in the same direction she'd taken just a few minutes before.

**A/N: This is pretty much how I'd envisioned that this fic would end. I rather like the uncertainty. But, at the same time, a few more ideas have popped into my head and I'm beginning to have some fun with just letting my muse run wild. I'm not usually so indecisive but darn it, I just can't seem to make up my mind. Leave it be? Continue? Sequel? If anyone has strong feelings either way, please don't hesitate to let me know… **


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